


love is the beast

by witching



Series: former believers [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (discussed but doesn't happen), Angst, Bastards in Love, Biting, Blow Jobs, Choking, Denial of Feelings, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Feigned Reluctance, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, Light Bondage, Love/Hate, M/M, Manhandling, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Teasing, Tenderness, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Relationships, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: "One thing Elias can never get used to, no matter how he tries, is the unique despairing bliss of sex with an avatar of the Lonely. Even after all these years, it's still such a horribly dissonant experience. He loves it, of course, but it's… bizarre. It will always be bizarre.His insides are burning up, it feels like, but the air is cool, as is Peter's skin on his, and it's terrifying, and it's easy, and it's awful, and it's perfect. They haven't even done anything yet, only half undressed and breathing each other in, like a ceremony, like a ritual."
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Series: former believers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765858
Comments: 22
Kudos: 300





	love is the beast

**Author's Note:**

> \- spoilers through mag158 mentioned in passing  
> \- both peter and elias refer to elias's anatomy using words like tits, cunt, clit, pussy, etc. it's not to be derogatory or degrading, it's just the terminology they use  
> \- their relationship is very complicated but i tried my best to make it clear that they're both pretty terrible and their weird power dynamic goes both ways, though it's a bit tilted toward peter in this one  
> \- it wasn't supposed to be soft but as you probably know i am incapable of not being soft

_love is the leech sucking you up_ _  
_ _love is the vampire drunk on your blood_ _  
_ _love is the beast that will tear out your heart_  
_hungrily lick it_ _  
and painfully pick it apart_

_— concrete blonde, “the beast”_

* * *

One thing Elias can never get used to, no matter how he tries, is the unique despairing bliss of sex with an avatar of the Lonely. Even after all these years – and there were others, before Peter, before Elias was Elias – it's still such a horribly dissonant experience. He loves it, of course, but it's… bizarre. It will always be bizarre.

His insides are burning up, it feels like, but the air is cool, as is Peter's skin on his, and it's terrifying, and it's easy, and it's awful, and it's perfect. They haven't even done anything yet, only half undressed and breathing each other in, like a ceremony, like a ritual. When Peter breaks the spell and speaks, it's like a shock to Elias's system.

"Say it."

The words rumble in Peter's chest, and Elias feels the vibrations down to his bones. Peter's pressed up against his back, one hand in his hair while the other teases his nipple – _mocks_ would be more accurate, Elias thinks, because Peter is clearly so far from trying to actually _please_ him in any way. 

Peter bites his shoulder, and not lightly. "Say it," he repeats, emphasizing each syllable with a heavy mix of heat and venom in his voice.

Elias grunts his dissent. "Peter, for God's sake –"

"Whose God, yours or mine?" Peter asks, and Elias can _feel_ him grinning, because he thinks he's _so_ funny. Fortunately for both of them, Peter doesn't wait for an answer to his ridiculous question, simply presses his chest tighter against Elias's back, his skin unnaturally cool but so _close,_ and whispers: _"Say. It."_

"I don't want to," Elias replies, all petulance and false dignity.

That smile, again, lips on his neck and a harsh tug at his hair. Peter's happy to simply torture him for as long as it takes. Elias knows this. 

"I'm not saying it," he insists, even as Peter sucks a deep bruise into the side of his neck and kneads at his chest with practiced fingers. 

That's what Peter wants him to say, is the thing. Elias is giving him exactly what he wants, no matter what he does. Even if he calls the whole thing off and kicks Peter out of his house, then he would be alone and Peter would be alone and wouldn't he just _love_ that.

Peter sighs in melodramatic mock despair, his breath washing over Elias's throat and making him shiver. "Have it your way," he mutters in a breezy tone that says he knows he'll win, "but you know the rules."

Elias makes a noise halfway between a hum of acknowledgement and a childish groan _._ He does know the rules. He knows the rules, the stakes, the shortcuts, everything – they invented this game together, after all. It's a calculated dance, so precise that even if he didn't Know it, Elias would still see every move in his head, right up until the end, until the inevitable checkmate. So he's not entertaining any delusions: he knows he'll say it eventually, but he also knows he'll fight it for a bit longer.

Intent on testing his resolve, Peter grinds slowly against his ass, making sure he really, _really_ feels what he's missing out on. Elias is unwilling to give him the response he craves – Peter wants him to whine, to beg, Elias can _taste_ his desire, but he won't give in so easily. 

"It seems to me," he says casually, "that you want it quite badly. I believe that gives me an advantage."

"If you won't say it, I have plenty of other ways to get off." Peter's tone is clipped, just a hint of strain to it, but Elias knows he's holding back. "The fact that I _want_ to fuck you doesn't mean I'm about to make _exceptions_ for you."

Elias grins, seeing an opening. "Aren't you, though?"

The answering growl sends a shiver of satisfaction down Elias's back, only amplified by the barely-contained frustration in Peter's voice when he bites out, "Aren't I what?"

"Making exceptions for me," Elias replies smugly. "All the time, really. Aren't I an exceptional creature, darling?"

"You're an exceptional pain in my ass," Peter says without missing a beat, punctuating the statement with a light nip at Elias's earlobe. "Your _ego_ certainly won't get you anywhere in this situation."

Sniffing indignantly, Elias turns his head to the side, just enough that the tug of Peter's fingers in his hair becomes a bit painful, and he takes in a sharp breath. Peter interprets it as encouragement, starts to pull harder, bringing his other hand up to rest loosely at the base of Elias's throat, just the ghost of a play at a threat. 

He stops breathing for a moment, as if anticipating the tightness of Peter's hand around his throat. It won't happen like that, he knows, but the implication is nothing short of tantalizing. It makes him want to push harder, to see just how strong Peter's willpower is, just how far he'll have to take this game before Peter snaps and either fucks him or chokes him or both.

He _really_ hopes it's both.

"Come now, we both know it isn't my _ego,"_ he says at length, lowering his voice to a dangerous velvet murmur. "It's the truth. I _am_ your exception, aren't I? Your _weakness."_

"No," Peter spits almost reflexively, his fingers pressing into Elias's skin just enough that he feels it.

Elias smiles like a shark catching the delicious, heady blood scent of Peter's vulnerability. "Really, dear, denial isn't very becoming on you." 

Though he tries valiantly to suppress it, Peter huffs out a short little laugh, a warm sound that almost threatens to give away his true feelings. Can't have that. "Shut up," he growls in Elias's ear. 

"You don't want that," Elias replies, smug as ever, a sultry lilt to his tone that he knows from experience drives Peter crazy. "You think my voice is my best quality. You think I’m devilishly intriguing. You'd be devastated if I stopped talking to you."

"Stop that."

"Oh, you'd be ever so _lonely,_ wouldn't you? Drifting through life without me, without your – what did you call it?"

"Elias," Peter warns, his tone dangerous.

Wicked glee saturates Elias's voice as he perks up his head, as if remembering something, and whispers, "Ah, yes. Your _underpinning,_ that's what you called me."

Hardly thinking, Peter moves his hand up from Elias’s throat to his jaw, the harsh grip of callused fingers digging into his skin, and turns Elias’s head back to look at him, to look into the deep, furious grey of his eyes and drown in it. The hand tangled up in his hair slides down, ghosting along the side of his neck and over his shoulder and making him shiver, before pressing into his chest, pinning his arm to his side and his body closer to Peter’s. 

The heavy, oppressive silence and the cold burn of Peter’s anger carries on long enough that Elias actually begins to fear that he may crack first, if only to make something happen. He gets close, but before he gives in, Peter lets out a deep, measured breath, his teeth clenched, and clutches Elias’s face tighter. He’ll have bruises, he knows, and he wonders if the marks on his skin will be as indelible as the ones Peter’s left on his soul. In the very back of his mind, in the split second before Peter speaks, Elias makes a mental note to be disgusted with himself for that thought when they’re done here.

Then Peter hisses, slow and vitriolic, quiet and violent, “I _never_ said that.”

His grasp on Elias’s jaw lets up a bit, almost imperceptibly and unaccompanied by any other change in his demeanor or disposition. He simply wants Elias to be able to answer him. Elias knows this, and feels a boastful satisfaction rise up in his throat – he hasn’t won, he’s not winning, he won’t win, but he has this moment of grace from Peter as proof of something. 

“You’ve never said it aloud, true,” Elias allows, his voice tight and clipped, “but you didn’t need to, did you?”

“Elias,” Peter says, “you’re pressing your luck.”

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it.” Elias manages a little smirk, his skin pulling under the still-painful grip of Peter’s fingers. He looks coolly into those dark eyes and takes even, easy breaths, drawing out the suspense before he moves in for the kill. “You’re still here, and you will continue to be here, because you _love_ me.”

Peter says nothing, but Elias can feel every muscle in his body tense up, coiled tight and straining under the weight of his distress. Despair? It’s unclear where Peter’s feelings fall, sad or angry or hopeless or a mixture or another thing altogether, but there’s no question that he is not happy.

Elias is overjoyed, a grin spreading across his aching face even as Peter pulls away from him just enough to turn him around with hands heavy on his shoulders. Face-to-face, Peter’s icy glare deepens as he takes in the satisfied smile of the man he has physically pinned to the wall. 

“Get out of my head, Bouchard, or you will regret it.”

It's a good act, Elias has to give him that. They both know full well that under the protection of the Lonely, Elias couldn't probe through Peter's thoughts if Peter wasn't actively allowing it. It's all a part of the game.

“Fine,” Elias snaps a bit petulantly. “More fun that way, I suppose.”

“Nobody’s having any fun,” Peter hisses through his teeth, stressing every syllable and digging his fingers into Elias’s bare shoulders, thumbs pressed into his collarbone. “You really are dragging this out, aren’t you? Trying to see how hard you have to push before I’ll give you what you want? It won’t. Happen.”

Elias squirms a bit under Peter's harsh grip, levels him with a scathing glare of his own. "I'm not dragging anything out," he says, indignant. "I've simply no _reason_ to capitulate to your rules. You've not given me enough incentive."

All at once, Peter's entire demeanor shifts from dangerous to playful, a smile like a snake spreading on his face. "It's incentive you want, is it?"

Rolling his eyes, Elias blows out a long breath. "Yes, Peter," he answers with as much dry exasperation as he can muster. "If you want me to debase myself, you ought to have something better to offer than the dubious honor of being your plaything for the evening."

"What, you want me to feed you sappy little lies?" Peter wraps a large hand around the back of Elias's neck and squeezes, hard enough to make his knees buckle slightly, and then he's dragging Elias along behind him as he takes to the bedroom, the whole time a diatribe pouring from his mouth. "You want me to say I'll lay you down and _make love_ to you? Want me to tell you about my _feelings,_ lay myself bare for your great Watcher?"

He comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, lifts Elias effortlessly and throws him down on it. Far from discouraged, Elias looks up at him with renewed conviction in his eyes. 

He's panting slightly, not from exertion but from arousal, when he cocks his head to the side and drawls, "I admit it would bring me no small amount of pleasure to hear you say something to that effect." 

Shaking his head, Peter chuckles darkly. "You debase yourself, I expose myself, and all the better for both our patrons?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Not going to happen," Peter bites out, unhesitating. "That's not how this works, Elias, and you know it."

Elias smiles, leans back on his elbows nonchalantly, as if he has all the time in the world, which he does. "I do know," he says with a short laugh, "and _you_ know what you have to do if you want me to give in."

The truth laid out so plainly – as plainly as Elias is capable of, anyway – sparks something within Peter, and he lunges forward and grabs him by the hair, pulling painfully as Elias tries to follow the movement. He yanks the man back into an upright position, sitting on the edge of the bed, and then releases him. 

"Floor," he commands bluntly. Elias doesn't move, so Peter reaches out and tweaks a nipple hard enough to make him moan and arch into the touch. "On your _knees,_ Elias, before I change my mind."

Not in any hurry, Elias shifts to the floor, coming to rest on his knees before Peter, looking defiantly up at him. He quirks an eyebrow but stays silent. 

Peter sighs and speaks slowly, as if trying to explain something very simple to someone very stupid. "What do you have to _say,_ Elias?"

Elias only clenches his fists where they rest on his thighs and continues to stare up at him. Rather dedicated to the façade this evening, Peter thinks as his hand returns to Elias's hair, tugs to tilt his face further up.

"There's really no need to be stubborn," he murmurs too gently, too kindly for the way he's pulling at Elias's scalp harshly, bringing tears to his eyes. "If you want it, you just have to ask."

"That's good to know," says Elias, businesslike and unaffected but for the slightly airy tone, and Peter huffs out a frustrated little breath before composing himself once more. 

_"Do_ you want it, Elias?" he prompts, almost patronizingly sweet. 

"Yes, I do," Elias answers curtly.

"So…?"

More silence. Peter gives a single disappointed shake of his head and lets go of Elias's hair, watching with satisfaction as his body sags as soon as he's released. 

He gives Elias another moment to reconsider his attitude before patting his cheek a bit too hard and tutting condescendingly. "Let me explain how this is going to go down," he says. "Option one is this: you do what needs done, say what needs said, and then I'll fuck you. It won't be _nice,_ but it'll be _good._ You'll get to come, likely more than once, and I may even let you kiss me, if I think you deserve it."

Taking a beat to let Elias process that information, Peter smiles at the way the man's eyes widen, the way he bites his tongue so hard to avoid giving Peter the satisfaction of showing his reaction. He wants to ask what option two is. He wants to whine and moan and beg. He wants to give in, but he won't.

"Option two," Peter continues breezily, "is this: you keep behaving like the petulant, prideful man you _pretend_ to be, and I won't fuck you. At least, not in any way that you'll enjoy. I'll use you to get off, that's for sure – tie you to the bed and fuck your thighs, or maybe your mouth. I'll finish on your face and your tits and leave you here, bound and covered in my come, until I decide you've learned your lesson."

Elias squirms at that, rubs his legs together in a move he clearly thinks is subtle. He barely manages to contain a whimper at the thought of what Peter could do to him, so turned on his eyes have gone a bit glassy.

Peter laughs. "I should have known you'd like that option," he mutters, as if he _hadn't_ known before he said it. "You always were a little slut."

This time, Elias is unable to keep a whine from escaping. Peter smirks down at him, smug and cold, and he straightens his back, lifts his chin defiantly in an attempt to preserve some of his dignity. 

"You can talk," he says like an accusation. "Can't keep your cock to yourself, can you, even when I haven't earned it. You'll give me what I want, in the end, because you only know how to think with your dick."

Tilting his head curiously, Peter gives a thoughtful hum. "Maybe I'll just leave," he muses quietly, "and see how you fare."

Elias freezes, trying to puzzle out how much Peter is bluffing and whether or not to call him on it. He decides ultimately that it wouldn't be worth it – not that he thinks Peter will actually leave, but that he really is getting rather impatient, and he's very much considering yielding to Peter's wishes. Only as a means to his own ends, of course.

"Nothing to say to that?" Peter asks with a short, cruel chuckle. He leans over, stooping slightly to grab Elias's chin, tilt his face this way and that, inspect him with an unaffected gaze. "Hm. Thought so. Well, what now?"

Elias swallows thickly and shuts his eyes tight against Peter's sharp gaze, too close to his face, inescapable. There was a time when he would have let Peter walk out the door, not giving a damn whether he ever returned. Things are different now. 

He’s always had a bit of a complex, especially when it comes to Peter – the financial leverage the man holds over him only serves to amplify his fiery superiority, his pathological need to be in control of every situation at all times. Their relationship is unconventional, sure, but Elias revels in it. He can feel his vulnerability like pinpricks on his skin, feeding his god through the cold lens of Peter’s eyes. 

There’s something to be said for the picture they make. Peter’s not huge, not small, has dark, graying hair and pallid skin: the kind of man who makes you feel nothing at all upon looking at him. He’s handsome, undoubtedly, but not strikingly so – not enough to draw attention, that is, because he doesn’t _want_ attention. He wants to be ignored, to slip by unnoticed even without the aid of his powers, and he can usually accomplish that, but not with Elias. Elias _sees_ him.

The way he’s standing over Elias, looking down at him – that’s a delicious sight. And then there’s Elias: on the short side of average for a man his age, with a sleek frame and sleek hair and a sleek aura, somehow. All long, straight lines and sharp edges, narrow hips and a flat chest making surgery unnecessary for his purposes. He’s an attractive man, and he’s quite proud of it.

It’s not like him to be _submissive,_ not at all, and frankly he’s not very good at it. That’s not really what they have going on between them. To say that Peter dominates him or he submits to Peter would be just as overly simplistic and incorrect as to say it’s the other way around. They play off of each other in a uniquely dynamic manner, alternating between defiance and deference, cruelty and compassion as they see fit. They have their rules, but the rules shift like sand beneath their feet.

He’s thinking too much about it. Elias knows what he wants.

"Peter," he whispers almost desperately, his voice rough with heat and desire.

"Elias," Peter replies, calm and quiet. 

A cold, deep anticipatory silence engulfs them fully, like the fog of the Lonely, like the omnipresence of the Eye, like the eternity of the two of them together. In the moment, it feels all-consuming, it feels like it's the only thing they've ever known.

Then Elias speaks so softly that Peter is practically reading his lips as they form the shapes of the syllables to utter: "Peter, please."

An unsettling smile spreads across Peter's face, teeth too white and eyes too cold. "I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that," he murmurs.

 _"Please,"_ Elias whines in despair, and Peter's smile widens impossibly further.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me."

"That's it?"

Gritting his teeth, Elias glares at Peter with eyes that could melt steel. "What else do you want me to say?"

Peter makes a show of considering the question, a pensive frown and a hand on his chin, a few thoughtful little noises thrown in for good measure. "It's just… not very elegant, is it? A bit simple – one might say brutish. It could use some… panache."

"Panache," Elias deadpans.

"Yes, Elias, panache," Peter insists. "Some detail, some rhetoric, some _emotion."_

"You don't want the emotion I've got for you at the moment." Elias pauses, tilts his head to the side, narrows his eyes. "Is this… _panache_ a _sine qua non_ for it to happen?"

Again, Peter stops to think, though they both know the answer. It feels like forever before he finally says, "Yes, I think it is. You've been rather unruly today, and I think I'll need some convincing if you want to be rewarded."

Scowling deeply and rolling his eyes, Elias steels himself for his imminent degradation. It's not a part of their usual deal; the rule is he has to say _please._ But Peter can tweak the rules, as can Elias when he chooses, provided it isn't a violation of the overriding rule: neither of them does anything they don't want to do.

It would be a horrid lie were Elias to claim that he doesn't _want_ to beg at Peter's feet. It's just that he also wants to make a point of being put out about it. A delicate balance.

He grinds his teeth together audibly for just a second, trying to really sell it, and says in the nastiest, bitterest tone he can muster, "Peter, please… please fuck me."

Peter only raises his eyebrows, leans in closer with an expectant look. Puts the pressure on with his eyes and his silence and his general presence. It's a terrifying vibe, Elias has to give him that. 

"I would like you to… please… fuck me, Peter. I want. Your cock. Inside me."

“Come on, Elias,” Peter sighs, disappointed and starting to sound rather bored. “You can do better than that.”

Elias makes a low noise of disgust in the back of his throat and stares coldly at him for a long moment. Finally, he thaws considerably, injects an air of realism into his tone when he speaks again. "Please, Peter," he says again, forlorn and plaintive. "Please fuck me, I'm so wet for you, I need your cock, _please._ I'll do anything, I'll be good, I promise."

Giving him a small approving smirk, Peter murmurs, "Is that so?"

"Yes, yes, please. I'll do whatever you want, just please fuck me.” The words leave Elias in a rush, not like shame but like irritation, like a distasteful due he must pay in order to get what he wants, like explaining a joke to someone who is only pretending not to have understood it. “Fill me up with your cock, please, come inside my cunt. Please, Peter, I need you inside me, I _need_ you."

“Oh, that’s _much_ better,” Peter purrs, bringing a hand down to rest on Elias’s cheek. “That was very good, Elias. Was it so hard, really?”

Elias musters half a glare for him again, not willing to slip back into complete insolence but also not about to admit that Peter was right all along. Not about to acknowledge that he’s been brought so low. Not about to tell Peter that no, it wasn’t so hard, it was easy, it was good, it was perfect.

He isn’t often afforded the luxury of being at someone else’s mercy. Most would see it as a hindrance, but Elias craves it sometimes, the loss of power. It comes with the territory of being in control of everything all the time. 

Peter is still just staring down at him, and Elias licks his lips idly, says nothing. The swift dart of his tongue makes Peter's eyes light up, one hand reaching out to pet Elias's hair sweetly while the other moves to take off his belt. He takes his time pushing his trousers and boxers down just far enough to free his cock, stroking himself a few times to give Elias a good show and build the anticipation. 

Tired of sitting back and watching, tired of being on the floor in a position where he very much cannot get fucked, Elias lets out a pitiable groan and leans forward, makes to stand. Peter stops him with a hand on the top of his head, firm but not pushing him. He moves back down all on his own.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Peter teases him cruelly. "You want me to use that pretty little mouth of yours? You want to taste my cock?"

Elias freezes. He _wants_ to be impaled on Peter's dick, on all fours or against the wall or folded in half as Peter pounds into him relentlessly. But – he can't very well scoff at the chance to get Peter in his mouth. He'll have to be patient, and the other part will come. 

He nods, opens his mouth expectantly and waits for Peter to give him what he wants. Peter delivers immediately, using the hand on Elias’s head to twist his fingers into short hair and pull Elias onto his cock. Elias moans wantonly as soon as he tastes the salty tang of Peter’s skin – every inch of him tastes the same, Elias knows from experience, but it’s stronger, headier when it’s his cockhead sitting on Elias’s tongue, resting there for far too long.

He wants to close his mouth, to wrap his lips around Peter’s shaft and suck for all he’s worth, but instead he simply looks up at Peter with wide, pleading eyes. Peter smiles at him, warmer and more genuine than his usual cold sneer, and pushes in further until he hits the back of Elias’s throat.

Elias doesn’t gag. Not just now, but in general. He doesn’t gag, ever, because he’s had a lot of practice sucking cock in his long, long life, and by this point he’s well over the psychological hurdle, so it only takes a few weeks to train a new body. He hums a soft noise of satisfaction as he relaxes his throat to take Peter to the root, eyes closing contentedly at the indulgent sigh that comes from above when he nestles his nose into Peter’s pubic hair.

“Such a nice man,” Peter murmurs, petting the side of Elias’s face with his thumb in a manner that can only be described as tender. “You’re so good when your mouth is full. Keep you occupied, keep you quiet. You can just _watch,_ can’t you, just the way you like, take it all in, and oh, you _take it_ so well.”

He punctuates the last bit with a sharp thrust of his hips, though there's not much deeper he can go, and he's holding Elias's head in place so all that happens is a pleasant constriction of the man's throat around him. Elias makes an indignant sound, a little grunt low in his throat. As complaints go, it's fairly ineffective, given how Peter responds by letting out a breathy moan and curling his fingers tighter into Elias's hair.

After what feels like an eternity, Peter draws his hips back. Elias nearly whines at the loss, even though he knows it's not over, he knows Peter's only getting started. The wet slide of Peter's cock through his lips and across his tongue is all Elias can feel right now, and it feels like he's being deprived, and he wants it back, he wants it _hard._ Of course, Peter knows this, and he is only too happy to deliver. 

He bucks back in quickly and without warning, chuckling fondly at the sound it draws from Elias. "I really do like you like this," he says conversationally, fucking in and out of Elias's mouth at his leisure. "You’re almost _sweet_ when you can’t talk."

Elias narrows his eyes in a show of defiance, potentially undermined by the fact that he chooses that moment to suck hard, flexing his tongue along the underside of Peter's cock. Peter lets his head drop back, a guttural moan ripping its way up from his chest as his hold on Elias’s head tightens.

“Oh, fuck, that’s good,” he mutters breathlessly, restraining the visceral need to fuck into the wet warmth of Elias’s mouth with an animalistic fervor. Elias takes advantage of his momentary lapse in focus to surge forward and take Peter all the way into his throat once more, nuzzling his forehead against Peter's stomach and swallowing around the hard thickness in his throat.

His immediate reward is being jerked off of Peter's cock abruptly and without ceremony. He protests, a hoarse groan escaping him and a long strand of saliva hanging from his swollen lips. Peter shakes his head down at Elias, looking fond and flushed and a little bit patronizing.

"You keep that up, this'll be over far sooner than either of us would like."

"You're a tease," Elias complains, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Take me to bed."

Peter scoffs, but reaches a hand out to help Elias up from his knees. They're only right next to the bed, but still he keeps a hold on Elias's hand until he has him laid out on his back, shaking in anticipation and staring up at him with wild eyes. 

Standing beside the bed, Peter studies him with an acute gaze. After a long moment, he finds what he's looking for, nods to himself in satisfaction, and moves to fully shuck his pants. "Get yourself ready for me," he throws out nonchalantly.

Elias moans miserably, mumbles, "I am ready for you, I've been ready forever."

A pointed look and a wave of Peter's hand reminds Elias that he's still half-dressed. He flushes even darker as he removes his belt, his disheveled slacks, his boxer briefs, dropping them all quite neatly on the floor beside the bed. When he's finished, he looks at Peter expectantly, impatiently, and spreads his legs in an effort to entice Peter to get on with it already.

Fortunately, Peter takes the hint, or else he simply gets tired of waiting, and he climbs up on the bed to settle between Elias's legs. Elias is a vision, truly, flushed and panting and trembling, open and wet and wanting.

“Such a picture,” Peter breathes, nigh on reverent, his hands stroking up the outsides of Elias’s thighs with a feather-light touch. 

Elias wriggles his hips, unimpressed. “You could do a lot better than admiring me with your _eyes_ right now.”

Laughing gently, Peter smacks Elias’s thigh. “I would think if anyone could appreciate the importance of a good view, it would be you.”

“Yes, yes,” Elias grumbles, “but I also have a _keen_ appreciation for the importance of a good fuck.”

Peter leans down rather suddenly to press a hot, messy kiss to Elias’s throat, scraping the sensitive skin with his teeth before pausing to suck hard, to mark him with another bruise. “Careful, you’re sounding a tad impersonal,” he mutters, his breath ghosting over the wet, tender spot. “Might turn into an unsentimental monster like me.”

He moves to suck a hickey lower on the column of Elias’s throat, but the man catches him hard by the hair and pulls him up so their faces are level, makes sure to look directly into Peter’s eyes and show his displeasure before pulling Peter into a proper kiss. Peter makes a grunt of protest, but doesn’t make to break away, only opens his mouth in response and lets Elias take from him. Elias licks into his mouth with a singular determination, slides his tongue along Peter’s, sucks on his lower lip, carries on for far too long before he finally uses his grip on the man’s hair to pull him back a few inches, still holding him firmly.

While Peter stares at him, breathless and surprised and irritated, Elias soaks it all in with satisfaction. Before Peter can say anything at all, Elias looks up at him with a smile and sighs dreamily, “I love you.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Peter growls without hesitation.

“That’s your job, darling,” Elias answers just as quickly. 

Huffing out a frustrated breath, Peter grabs Elias’s wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of his face, and leans in to bite and suck at his skin again, littering small, dark bruises over his throat, his shoulders, his collarbone, his tits as Elias squirms beneath him. He laves his tongue over both of Elias’s nipples, suckling and swirling his tongue around the nubs before biting down hard, causing Elias to cry out. His cock is hard and leaking, pressed into Elias’s thigh as Peter unconsciously ruts against him.

Peter moves to hold both of Elias’s wrists above his head in one hand, and Elias whimpers in anticipation as he uses his newly freed hand to line up his cock with the man’s entrance. The blunt, warm pressure at his slick hole makes Elias whine and wiggle his hips, but Peter waits for him to hold still before pushing inside him, deliberately, torturously slow. 

Impatient and desperate, Elias tenses his walls around Peter's cock, gripping him tight and hot and perfect, and although Peter knows what he's doing, he still responds by slamming his hips forward, driving his cock home in one swift movement. Elias lets out a sigh of relief, wraps one leg around Peter's waist, pulls him infinitesimally deeper.

"God, you fucking prick," Peter mutters half to himself, his grip on Elias's wrists tightening painfully. He doesn't wait before starting to fuck him in earnest, doesn't hold back. He knows this is what Elias wants, but he wants it too, and that's reason enough not to deprive him of it.

"That's not very – _ah,"_ Elias cuts himself off with a gasp as Peter thrusts hard and fast, filling his cunt perfectly. He moans, arches his back, lifts his hips off the bed to adjust the angle, to get him to hit that delicious spot. When he does, Elias sees stars.

Peter shifts his weight and releases Elias's wrists, moving instead to wrap an arm around his middle and hold him up to maintain the position without Elias collapsing from the strain on his legs. He may be younger than James was, but he doesn't exactly have the strict muscle control of a gymnast. 

Noting the gesture, Peter's immediate instinct to anticipate and accommodate his needs in the throes of passion, Elias smiles. It's the little things, really, that remind him that he sees so much more of Peter than the other man would prefer. He can deny it all he wants, and Elias will readily deny it himself sometimes, but it's warmth and tenderness and care and it's _there,_ whether Peter likes it or not. 

Briefly, he considers the petty impulse to press that knowledge into Peter’s brain, but he decides against it. It’s a nice moment, no reason to ruin it, especially when he hasn’t even had a single orgasm yet. He’ll mock Peter for it later.

As if on cue, Peter grabs a pillow to prop up Elias’s hips so his hand is free for more pressing matters. He doesn’t slow or falter in his thrusts as he thumbs at Elias’s clit expertly, drawing a long moan from him, at the same time as he dives down to suck and bite at Elias’s notoriously sensitive nipples.

Elias thrashes, throws his head back, grabs two tight fistfuls of the sheets as Peter sets his whole body alight. There’s no hesitation, no ceremony to the way he’s suddenly decided to move _making Elias come_ to the top of his to-do list; he just does it, and Elias cries out as Peter wrings his orgasm out of him. He whines at the loss of Peter’s mouth on his chest, and again as he feels the oversensitive nerves of his cunt respond to the continued strokes of Peter’s cock deep inside him.

“You’re close,” Elias says breathlessly as he comes down, not a question but a statement of fact. 

Peter nods his head anyway. Elias drags him into a kiss again, this time out of passion rather than spite, a chaotic, crushing contact of lips and tongues that is so disorganized and filthy that even Peter can appreciate it. It’s all heat and sex, and these are things he knows. When he pulls back, his breath is coming in short, shallow pants, his fervent eyes studying Elias’s lips as if he might find a scar or some other permanent proof that he had been there.

“Go on, then,” Elias encourages him, squeezing down on his cock and rolling his hips. “I don’t have all night.”

“You bloody well _do,”_ Peter growls half-heartedly. His thrusts are faltering slightly, slower and messier, and he lets out a low grunt with each one. “Already gonna come too fast, your pussy is so tight and hot and wet for me. Only for me,” he adds darkly, his gaze burning.

“Only for you,” Elias agrees, nodding his head. “I only want you to fill me up, nobody else. Nobody else can do it as well as you. Nobody else cares for me the way you do.”

That’s what pushes Peter over the edge, groaning and biting down on Elias’s shoulder as he spills inside him. Elias relishes it, the dull pain of Peter’s teeth, the steady pulsing of the thick cock inside him and the warmth flooding his cunt. He comes for the second time, clenching down on Peter’s softening dick, and smiles at the sharp intake of breath from Peter right before he pulls out.

Peter rolls onto his side, facing Elias, which is uncommon but not unheard of. Elias remains on his back, looking up at the ceiling in a post-orgasmic haze for a long minute until he regains his senses and turns his head to see Peter lying there, just _watching_ him, looking as blissed out as Elias feels. It brings him a heady sort of pleasure, the combination of his personal thrill at the fact that Peter isn’t ignoring him and the spiritual triumph of his lover feeding his patron like this.

“D’you need a shower? Or – anything?” Peter asks, his tone casual and soft. 

Elias shakes his head. “No, I’m alright just like this, thank you.”

Furrowing his brow, Peter places a hand on Elias’s shoulder, waits for him to meet his eyes again before speaking. “D’you want me to leave?”

 _“You_ want to leave,” Elias sighs, already sounding defeated and exhausted. He’s far too old to beg a lover to stay the night, especially one like Peter, who will only delight in his loneliness. “Don’t let me keep you. I’m just going to sleep, it’s not like you’ll be missing anything interesting.”

“You seem like you have something you want to say.”

“Yes, well. I’m not going to.”

Peter frowns. “You can say it,” he says gently, “if you want. If it’s true.”

“Of course it’s true,” Elias snaps at him, “but it doesn’t change anything, and I have more important things to worry about. If you’re going to leave, then leave.”

“Alright,” replies Peter helplessly. It’s not as if he can dispute it. He moves to rise from the bed, but stops in his tracks when Elias speaks again.

“Just remember,” he says in his sharp voice, the tone that cuts down to the core of Peter and flays him alive, “that it’s true for you, as well. That you can’t make it go away by ignoring it or running from it. Remember that.”

Feeling rather like he’s been punched in the gut, Peter goes to dress himself without answering. Elias doesn’t look at him while he does so, but Peter knows better than to think that that means he can’t see him. When he finishes buttoning his shirt, he hesitates for a long moment before turning and walking back toward the bed. 

He crosses to the other side, to catch Elias’s gaze where he’s stalwartly trying to pretend Peter isn’t there, and kneels in front of him to bring their faces level. There’s a sticky, humid sort of silence in the air between them, and Peter decides that the best way to mitigate the discomfort of that is to lean in and kiss Elias.

It’s the softest they’ve ever kissed. Elias hardly opens his mouth, Peter doesn’t use any teeth, and they both close their eyes as Peter’s hand cups Elias’s face. It’s short, as well, Peter pulling back after only a few seconds, looking deep into Elias’s eyes.

“I _never_ forget it,” he says in a broken voice. “Wish I could, but I can’t. So don’t worry about that.”

And then he’s gone. Elias can’t even be sure whether he used his Lonely powers or if he was just out of it enough to not notice Peter leaving the room. He does hear the door close, though, and he strains his ears to hear the deadbolt turn – Peter taking the time to lock the door behind him, another table scrap for Elias to hoard – and Peter’s car starting. Sometime after that, he drifts off to sleep, and he dreams of fog.


End file.
